


tomorrow may rain so I'll dream of the sun

by pinkasrenzo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Divergence - Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Canon Divergence - Post-Hogwarts, Domestic Fluff, Draco Malfoy deserves better, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, M/M, Memories, Post-Break Up, but very light I swear, not really a break-up but., song-fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-17 12:39:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18098693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkasrenzo/pseuds/pinkasrenzo
Summary: His ghost hides in the night when you’re stumbling through life and drown his voice in the sound of footsteps in the rain. He’s a shadow in your dreams, reminding you of days gone up in smoke when your bones were still unbroken and your hands didn’t tremble when you wrote. And you’re on an empty stage strumming quietly a soft song of times gone by and memories washed away by pouring rain.





	tomorrow may rain so I'll dream of the sun

**Author's Note:**

> This is all [this song’s](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a5Zr0F9JJok) fault. But it's fluffy and soft and I missed my favourite sons.

Last night you dreamt that somebody loved you. A ghost of times gone by, lost somewhere in the rain.  
You dreamt that somebody’s touch was on your skin. Soft sounds against your ear and a sleep-tainted voice in the morning light.  
You dreamt that somebody’s name was buried deep inside your bones. Hard letters clad in green tingling underneath your skin.  
You dreamt that he was yours again to love. Light fingers on your skin when his lips kissed your ribs and whispered that he loved you in your sins.  
It was a dream from ten years past.  
But you woke up and the bed was cold and empty on his side. And your heart ached at all the memories gone by.

His ghost hides in the night when you’re stumbling through life and drown his voice in the sound of footsteps in the rain. He’s a shadow in your dreams, reminding you of days gone up in smoke when your bones were still unbroken and your hands didn’t tremble when you wrote.  
And he’s still there among the faces you don’t know when voices fade and smoke fills the air in soft spirals of grey and white. His eyes meet yours across the room and your dreams come to life, before the spell breaks and crumbles on your lips on strangers’ skin.  
And silence falls and hugs you tight when the girl with yellow flowers in her hair leaves the stage and her guitar lies quietly on the wood. Threads of cinder tug at your chest and your dreams come down in waves when your voice is harsh and breaks. But guitar strings mark your skin in red and white, and you’re a lonely man before a crowd.  
Empty laughs and empty glasses clinking in the night, and you’re on an empty stage strumming quietly a soft song of times gone by and memories washed away by pouring rain. Close your eyes and silence falls and settles on your skin, and your voice is but a whisper in the night.

«Think I saw you on the bus just yesterday, wearing that blue shirt you said you liked that day. The image now is just blurred in my mind...»

A soft whisper in the mic and silence falls quietly on your lips. You’re a lonely man before a crowd and your voice is soft and low under the lights that warm your skin. His ghost dances on the strings and his smile is a soft sound in the night. And somebody stares and listens in the crowd, and his gaze lingers on your skin when your knuckles brush against the wood.  
Your dreams are sewn in clouds and his shirts were stitched in blue. And when he kissed you in your sleep his face was cold and nice in the warmth of summer rains. He said he liked your clothes and stole them from your chair, even if the fabric stretched on his shoulders and the sleeves were full of holes. And you wonder who stitches his shirts now that years have gone by, and you don’t feel his scent on your shirts 'cause soap clings to your skin.  
And maybe it was him just yesterday, resting his head on someone else’s shoulder, wearing that shirt you bought him cause he liked the blue but rent was close. And his smile was bright when dark hair got tangled in soft cotton, and you tugged it down and touched his skin and kissed his lips. He thanked you in the dark, whispering your name against your skin in ragged breaths, his love burning deep inside your bones.  
And maybe it was him just yesterday, his face blurred behind your unshed tears. But even if his eyes were not the green of splintered glass, you couldn’t see and couldn’t cry and walked away in the rain.  
And your dreams come back in pieces and your fingers shake and tremble on the strings. Your voice breaks and your heartbeat’s quickens underneath your ribs. Your past is blurred in the smoke and your eyes don’t meet the crowd, when you sing softly of summer rains and dreams forgotten, your hands shaking on the strings.  
And somebody listens in the crowd, and his smile falters when your voice sings quietly of a love gone by.

«But do you recall the time we talked, the day you held my hand. We were by a station, the sky was dark in sight. The moon was out, but the sun was in your eyes. No one talked, but I did. You listened. You said you liked the way I spoke...»

And it stuck and stumbled in your thoughts for days and days, falling and tripping in your fingers intertwined underneath the faint streetlights. And you fell in love with him again under the rain, his voice a quiet sound in the night. His fingers were light and calm on your skin, and your hands didn’t tremble clutched on his chest. He said your eyes were like the sun, and your face felt warm when he laughed and touched your skin. Trains went by and the night came slow and dark on your voices muffled in the rain. And your heart was loud and fast when he smiled and listened to your words of times to be.  
And then trains came and went and war weighted on your shoulders and the air was thick with cinder. And you spoke of simpler times and clearing skies, of clouds parting and warm sunlight on your skin. Distant thunders cracked the night and your voice broke on the _maybes_ and _we could be_. And when letters tangled in the rain he smiled and said he liked the way you spoke. And when you murmured your goodbyes on his skin, his fingertips were slow and warm against your lips, and he listened to your words of future dreams that couldn’t be. And your name was quiet on his lips, his voice a soft whisper in your thoughts. A sound tangled in memories still warm of days gone by. And when his hands left you cold under the rain how many trains went by, waiting for his voice against your skin yet once again.  
But somebody watches in the crowd, and when his eyes meet yours across the room his smile is light with dreams once drowned in summer rains. Your song breaks and guitar strings scratch at your skin when his lips curl on the letters of your name. And he’s mouthing _love you still_ and _please be mine again_ in that hushed tone of his that settles on your bones like sunshine in the rain. And your voice trembles in the night when you sing your past and future dreams for a love you thought long gone when the moon was out and the sun shone faintly on wooden floors. Your hushed voices hidden in the waking of the night, wool and cotton resting lazily on marble stones in the waking of the light. His fingers traced silent promises on your naked skin and you smiled at the letters in his hands. You felt his fingers running lightly on your dreams hiding silently under your ribs, tracing paths of days to be to keep you safe when war came crashing down. And his touch was warm and soft in your dreams when he sealed your past in green and blue, and his smile met yours and broke on the letters of your name. And his voice was low and warm when he said he loved the silver in your eyes.  
And when he stares and says your name, his gaze buries deep inside your bones and your memories till shared. His face is soft when he smiles at your fingers trembling on the strings. And the crowd is silent when his ghost leaves your shoulders and your dreams, and your voice falls on his skin in whispered dreams of days gone by.

«I think I saw you in my dream last night, it was cold with lots of pretty lights. The image now is just blurred in my mind...»

And he walks across the room in silent steps, his smile warm and tender when his head rests on the wood before your eyes. And you’re no more a lonely man before a crowd.  
Guitar strings mark your skin in red and white and you’re singing to your heart in soft whispers in the night.  
And all the memories that you had come in droplets of a life once shared. You sing of winter nights and tiny lights when you fell on silken sheets and his hands were warm against your skin. And your voice is just a whisper when his eyes trail on your skin and pale silver drowns in green.  
You sing of tiny lights twinkling in the night and footsteps on marble stones when war knocked on your door and his thumb brushed lightly against your skin. And in your dreams the stars were tiny lights up in the sky when he reached into the night and caught your heart hiding in the darkest corners of your past.  
His ghost came walking down paths drawn in blue, slow and quiet just like sunshine in the rain. And his laughter was kind and soft when your breath caught in his neck and your skin burned and lived beneath his hands. And cold winter bit at your bones but your hands were warm when your fingers intertwined. Smoke and ashes melted faintly in the snow that slowly fell in the darkness of the night. His hair was stained in white, and his eyes were bright when he looked at your lips and brushed away faint traces of his love from your tousled golden hair. And you laughed in your dreams of days gone by, soft whispers in the night and war waiting hidden underneath the starry lights. Cinder settled quietly in your lungs, but your dreams were warm and far from smoke. And the pain was cold and sharp when the black ink on your arm stung and burned deep in your bones, but tiny lights were in the sky and your hands were slow and steady against his chest.  
And when you sing memories of a life gone up in smoke, the ghost of what once was clings faintly to your skin, and his head rests quietly on the wood when the green that’s in his eyes is blurred in rain, and your dreams are tiny whispers on the strings.

«But do you recall the time we talked, the day you kissed me. We were by an archway with flowers cascading round the roof, standing under my winter coat to shelter us. You said you liked the way I spoke...»

And he hides a quiet smile in folds of blue around his arms, your eyes in his and gentle fingers on the strings. And flowers bloom on cracked lips when your voice is low and tender in the night. You sing of distant winds and muffled sounds, snowflakes falling in your hair and staining white the winter rains. And memories hidden in shadows brush against your skin, warm and soft under dim lights dancing in your hair. Your heart is in his bones and your voice a whisper in the night when you sing of hands and souls entwined.  
Your love is sewn in rain and his voice was in your skin when cold winter bit your lips and cracked them red. But his hands were in your hair and rain was in his eyes, when he breathed in your name and his voice broke and stumbled on your skin. You spoke in ragged breaths, and his laughter was the sound of dreams that came to be.  
He said _please have my heart_ and left his name in soft whispers on your skin.  
Rain was in your eyes and war was burning black inside your veins, but flowers fell in white and yellow on the wood, the golden of your hair was stained in white and his fingers were light and warm against your skin when distant voices called your names and echoed in the rain. And hurried footsteps passed you by when your voice was in his lungs and your secrets were sheltered in the night.  
And when silence fell again, you hid his name in yours and danced slowly in the rain.  
And your song is sewn in rain when you sing of distant dreams and soft whispers in the night. Guitar strings scratch at your skin, and your voice is low and tender when your past is on your lips and his name is in your bones. He lies against the wood and closes his eyes on the beating of your heart when your fingers touch the strings. And your past hides in your veins, a silent snake fading dark underneath your pale white skin. But his snake hides in silence in folds of blue and doesn’t burn under your skin.  
War still burns and scars your skin and rain falls silent from your eyes and down your neck. But flowers bloom in dreams on guitar strings, and the night is soft and warm against your skin when he smiles and silver drowns in green. The crowd is just a blur fading slowly in the night, and you’re a man before your heart and life, and your name is on his lips stained in pale silver, singing to your song of dreams to be.  
And your hands are slow and steady against the wood when your bones don’t ache and tremble in the night. And your voice is low and tender around the notes hidden in your past when you sing of days gone by and dreams you’ll sew in rain.

«And if you’d like to hold my hand, it would bring back all the things we had. And if god would do take that all away, wouldn’t that be a shame?»

Tonight you’ll dream that somebody loves you. A promise of times to be, found somewhere in the sun.  
You’ll dream that somebody’s touch is on your skin. Soft sounds against your ear and a sleep-tainted voice in the morning light.  
You’ll dream that somebody’s name’s still buried deep inside your bones. Hard letters clad in green tingling underneath your skin.  
You’ll dream that he’s yours again to love. Light fingers on your skin when his lips kiss your ribs and whisper that he loves you in your sins.  
It’s a dream from ten years hence.  
And you’ll wake up and the bed will be warm and taken on his side. And your heart will breathe in all the memories yet to be.

And guitar strings don’t scratch at your skin when your voice is but a whisper in the night. The stage’s a distant blur behind your back, your hands brushing lightly on his skin when his fingers close tenderly on your wrists.  
Your dreams are sewn in sunlight when silver drowns in green, and the night leaves its memories in your past. And you sing your song of days to be and hold his hands against your chest, his love inside your bones and your heartbeat’s steady and calm in the waking of the light. And his voice is low and tender on your lips when the letters of your name break and stumble in his smile against your skin.  
And if war would do take all the dreams that can still be, wouldn’t that be a shame?  
'Cause his name is hard and broken on your lips, but his skin is soft and warm beneath your hands. And if he’s here at dawn and your dreams are sewn in sunlight, maybe you can dream of days to come and silent words against your skin just once again.  
And when your song of days past comes to an end, you’ll feel his voice against your skin and touch the sunshine in his bones.


End file.
